


Your Vice Is As Good As Mine

by Thea_K



Series: Of Vices and Virtues [2]
Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: Angst and Feels, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Knots! But not those knots, M/M, More feels than actual plot, Random neko, Wounded!Toru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_K/pseuds/Thea_K
Summary: Toru leans with his forearms on the rails of his balcony, drawing out the last few dregs of his cigarette to calm the craven shake of his fingers. At this witching hour, the street below is silent in contrast to the tumult of his mind.Or: The one where old wounds inform reactions to newer ones. Companion piece to The Virtue of Shadows, from Toru's POV. But this time holy water is unnecessary.
Relationships: Morita Takahiro/Yamashita Toru, Moriuchi Takahiro/Yamashita Toru
Series: Of Vices and Virtues [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935514
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Your Vice Is As Good As Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I knew as soon as I wrote The Virtue Of Shadows that I had to write another one from Toru's POV. Have no fear though - this one isn't explicit! Can also be thought of in the same AU as Namesake (Under An Almost-Full Moon), if you'd like extra angst. 
> 
> I've hidden at least three references to songs, if you're wondering why a phrase or scene might sound familiar. l love doing that sort of thing hehe. 
> 
> Translations at the end, as usual.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and no offense is meant.

> And from where should the light enter, for,  
>  The wound of my heart cannot be seen.
> 
> \- Zubair Ahsan

Toru is still a _shougakusei_ thefirst time the stray begins to loiter around their house - an old _machiya_ that's been in the family since the time of his great-grandfather.

He is feeling hot and sticky, even after wolfing down a strawberry-flavoured _kakigori_ as an after-dinner treat. His elder brother has commandeered their household’s one working electric fan, claiming that he needs it most since he's studying for important entrance exams. So Toru, who has already developed an indifference for schoolwork anyway, makes his way outside into their back garden to avail of the evening breeze, if any.

He is sitting on the cool stone bench, short legs idly dangling while he gazes up at the dark crawl of clouds, when he hears the faint crunch of leaves. Startled, he turns his curious eyes toward the disturbance and finds a pair of yellow ones returning his stare.

Under the shine of an almost-full moon, the intruder reveals itself to be an old cat with ruffled, midnight fur. Its lack of a collar suggests to Toru that it doesn't have an owner and, judging by its extreme leanness, that food is hard come by on the streets. The bright eyes regard him with a healthy amount of suspicion and the creature remains crouched in the bushes in a protective stance. Yet Toru can't help but read in its ongoing stare a silent entreaty to be fed.

He knows that there's leftover _yakizakana_ inthe fridge that likely no one would care about if it were to go missing. Excited, he slides off the bench, thinking to fetch it. But his slippers clap loudly on to the ground and the sound frightens the cautious feline. It disappears soundlessly into the shadows before it can get the meal it obviously needs.

Once he gets over his shock, Toru berates himself for being so careless. He is saddened when he thinks it is the last he'll see of the creature. But to his surprise, it returns the next night, and the night after that, until he slowly begins to think of it as his.

⸸⸸⸸

Toru leans with his forearms on the rails of his balcony, drawing out the last few dregs of his cigarette to calm the craven shake of his fingers. At this witching hour, the street below is silent in contrast to the tumult of his mind. As if on automatic, his body cycles through the familiar movements of raising the slender stick to his mouth, inhaling and savouring the mouthfeel of the smoke, before he exhales it into the still, humid air. He knows, deep down, that this exercise is no use; the nicotine in his bloodstream is not the hit he needs.

He closes his eyes and in between his churning thoughts he remembers the manky old cat of his youth. Behind his eyelids, the memory of its watchful yellow eyes is still vivid as the afterimage of the streetlamp he faces. He feels the ghost of its fur rubbing against his shins and reminisces the warm weight of its bony body on the infrequent occasions it willingly leapt into his arms. In those rare moments, he would rake patient fingers through its knotted fur, untangling it, while humming a tune underneath his breath. 

But in spite of the trust he had slowly gained from feeding it night after night, the cat had retained a wildness that refused to stay still for too long and be doted on. Once, trying to keep it with him for just a bit longer, the creature had twisted in his hold and its nails had drawn the young Toru’s blood. After, he had received half a dozen shots to ward off any disease that might have festered in the wounds. To this day he harbours a distaste for needles, but he knows they were for his own good.

Toru is staring at the faded scars on the insides of his forearms when the silence of the night is broken by the metallic slide of the balcony door.

He turns his weary eyes and finds an pair of bright but inscrutable ones staring back. The other pauses at the divide between the balcony and the apartment’s interior, one hand still grasping the door’s handle. He is darkly swathed in an oversized shirt and baggy pants that draw attention to what can be seen of his petite frame. The other watches wordlessly as Toru turns his back and crushes the end of his cigarette into an ashtray on the balcony’s ledge.

Toru knows to keep still while he waits. He doesn’t dare to even move the weight of his body from one foot to the other, afraid of the rustle that his tracksuit pants might make. Gripping the rails before him, he peers upwards at a waxing moon that is sliver shy of being full. 

His patience is rewarded when he hears the scuffle of feet behind him, and soon slender arms snake their way around his waist and he feels the warm press of the other’s forehead against his spine. He wants so badly to turn around; to bury his fingers in the other’s hair or rake the backs of them down the soft skin of the other’s cheek, to finally rid them of their shake. But his ears ring with echoes of a harshly whispered ‘Don’t’, sharper than any slash of a claw. So Toru closes his eyes again, helpless against the breath he feels through his thin shirt. 

Eventually, he hears the other’s quiet request: “ _Onegai_ ”, and it finally begins, again.

⸸⸸⸸

The first time it happened, Toru had been delirious with happiness that years of waiting had finally come to an end. The timing was a bit inconvenient, he had thought, but he was willing to shirk off a fledgling relationship and give himself fully to the other. 

It was with such rude shock, then, that he had awoken to an empty bed, and later, had been summarily dismissed by the other, in public no less. Hurting and confused, he had spent many weeks withdrawn and had kept his answers to a curt minimum when needed at meetings. At their lives, he would stick to his side of the stage, leaving it only to reach the safety of Ryota’s whenever the other ventured near. And on the car rides home, he would train his eyes unwaveringly on the road and crank up the music to a volume that did not permit easy conversation; not that the other would ever think to start one.

He had finally come to a conclusion later, that it had been a one-off event to be swept under the metaphorical carpet. Under the worried gaze of their bandmates, he and the other eventually formed an unspoken and uneasy truce to continue as before. He convinces himself that it wouldn’t have worked out, anyway.

Still, needing distraction, Toru decides to continue his relationship, finding consolation in the easy rituals of going on dates, giving each other presents and other such fluff. In the light of day, they made it easy to forget.

⸸⸸⸸

He is therefore unprepared when, seemingly out of the blue, it happens a second time.

By the third time it happens, he’s worked out the rules. With the rejection fresh in his mind, he makes some of his own. 

_Never again_ , he decides, as he slides photos into silver frames that remind him of needles and the need to ward off any residual emotion that festers in his heart’s wound. During sunlight hours, they keep his thoughts off the nightly happenings. They don’t do him any good, though, when midnight comes around and his fingers began to itch for something - someone - out of reach. 

⸸⸸⸸ 

In the darkness, Toru is careful to keep his touches light. He’s learnt from that painful lesson to not to let them linger long enough for them to be deemed a caress. He abides by the other's rules to move his fingers always in service of the other’s pleasure, but no more than that. He mechanically repeats whatever the other commands and moves his lips wherever they are directed. 

_You are no more than a means to an end_ , Toru thinks when he’s encased in the balmy cavern of other’s mouth, _just a way to satisfy the other’s need to be wanted_.

Yet sometimes Toru thinks he spies a certain look that creeps into the other’s face, when he’s buried deep within him and he’s using the movements of his body to communicate what he’s not willing to admit and what the other doesn’t want to hear. The other’s eyes roam his features, the almost-tenderness in them making Toru hope an admission is near.

But inevitably, a hand brings his face down to the other’s and the words are swallowed up in a desperate, dirty kiss that reminds him of the truth of what this _thing_ is. Any admission that happens is only Toru’s, which he whispers only when the other’s lost to the world while in the final throes of pleasure; only when he can plead insanity in the heat of the moment.

Afterwards, Toru collapses on to the other. Again, he knows to remain very still and he carefully adjusts the depth and timing of his breathing to feign sleep. He presses his ear on the other’s chest and he strains to find any meaning in the heartbeats that calm down to a lullaby. And, for a brief moment, Toru allows himself to long for the day when he can run his patient fingers through the other’s hair, and they can untangle the impossible knots that lie between them. 

He offers little to no resistance when he feels the other slide out from underneath him, merely tucking in his forearms underneath his chest, his heart. 

He knows by now to not lay claim to something that was never his.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations
> 
> shougakusei - elementary school student  
> machiya - traditional Japanese wooden townhouse  
> kakigori - traditional Japanese desert with shaved ice, sweetener and toppings  
> yakizakana - grilled fish served whole  
> onegai - please
> 
> Did you catch the song references? Either way, comments are love ❤️.


End file.
